Turquoise Girl

by Thurlo, David

  “Sit down, please,” Brewster invited. There was only one chair and a step stool, and nobody took the offer.

  “Seems you withheld quite a few details when we spoke with you the other night,” Ella said. “It’s time to tell us everything about your relationship with Valerie Tso.”

  “I answered all of your questions,” Brewster said, all friendliness gone from his voice. “I don’t know what else there is to tell.”

  “Yeah, you do. Word is that you get off on slapping women around,” Blalock challenged, stepping within punching distance of the man, who had two inches on FB-Eyes. “Valerie was a lot smaller and lighter than Lynn, wasn’t she, and she just couldn’t take punches like the big girls. You got carried away, hit her too hard, and she fell into the mirror. She was all cut up, bleeding everywhere, and maybe she even lost consciousness. You could have called for help, Stanley, but you froze up and let her die. Tell us the truth, man. It was an accident, right? And you tried to cover it up by making it look like a robbery gone south. Isn’t that how it went down?”

  Brewster looked at Blalock with complete disgust, clenching his fists for a second, then relaxing. “You’re delusional. I didn’t hit her, and I didn’t kill her. How could I? I wasn’t even here,” he spat out. “I liked Valerie. She was a valued employee and we had a good working relationship—balanced, as they say around here.”

  “There’s nothing balanced about your relationship with women,” Ella said. “Or are you too warped to realize that any more?”

  “I don’t take advantage of anyone,” he said flatly. “And I don’t have sex with my employees. Just ask them.”

  “I’m going to be asking all the women you’ve been with, starting with your wife,” Ella said, getting in his face.

  Brewster snorted in disgust. “My wife already knows I’m into harmless little role-playing games with the ladies.”

  “More than a little, and certainly not harmless. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t haul you into jail for the murder of Valerie Tso,” Blalock demanded.

  “Because you need evidence to make charges stick, that’s why. And you won’t find any against me, because I didn’t kill her.” He took a deep breath, then continued slowly. “Valerie did my books. I’ll admit that there was more to our relationship when she first started working for me, but it didn’t go on very long. She got hooked on church, religion, the whole nine yards, and I’m not out to corrupt anyone.”

  “You lost me,” Ella said.

  “I respect God-fearing women,” he said simply.

  Justine groaned, shaking her head. “A man of character.”

  Ella studied Brewster’s face, wondering if he was joking. To her amazement, he seemed to be completely and utterly serious.

  “Sure, I like to mess around,” Brewster continued. “Big deal, most men like a little strange stuff now and then. I have my fun, and my ladies make some extra bucks when they keep me happy. It all works out. But there are some lines I won’t cross,” he added sharply. “If the woman doesn’t want to, or if she’s got religion, she’s off-limits.”

  “How about giving us a DNA sample?” Ella asked.

  “Let us rule you out, clear you of suspicion,” Justine added.

  “No way, officers. Evidence can be manipulated and planted anywhere. You’re out of suspects and looking for a scapegoat to pin this on so you won’t get jack from me without a warrant.”

  “You said you weren’t here when she died, so where were you between six and ten two nights ago?” Ella asked.

  “I was having a drink with a friend, and watching a game at the Double Play on their big-screen TV. After that, I went to my cabin up near Navajo Lake. That’s where I was when one of your people called me.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?” Ella asked. “The one you were with at the bar.”

  “Jerry Montoya. He owns the Big Wheel Tire Company in Farmington. Now is there anything else? Lynn’s going to need help fixing breakfast for our paying customers.”

  “I have another question. If you didn’t kill Valerie, do you have any idea who did?” Blalock asked.

  “No, but the moron obviously didn’t plan it very well. Valerie goes to the bank every afternoon. Had the killer broken into her place around three P.M., he could have scored the day’s receipts instead of whatever chump change he picked up from Valerie’s purse. She was robbed, wasn’t she?”

  “Don’t leave the area, Brewster. You’ll be seeing us again,” Blalock said. The three officers walked back through the kitchen, and Brewster followed at a distance, stopping behind the grill to take over for Lynn.

  As Blalock and Ella headed for the door, Justine slowed down and went to talk to a woman sitting at one of the booths. A few minutes later, she joined Ella and Blalock outside by the cars. “I just spoke to Vera Aspass. Jayne had mentioned earlier that Vera was a friend of Donna Brewster. Vera said that Donna doesn’t come around this place anymore, even though she’s the real owner. According to Vera, Donna’s got an arrangement with Stan. He operates the café and makes sure it stays in the black, and she keeps her distance from the operation. Lately, Donna’s kept herself busy taking trips to visit her sisters, but she’s home now. The Brewsters live just west of Farmington, north of the highway in one of those newer neighborhoods.”

  “Got an address?”

  Justine handed Ella a slip of paper. “And Joe Neskahi telephoned as I left Vera’s booth. He’d spoken to Andrew Pettigrew, one of Valerie’s ex-husbands. This is the guy who lives near Gallup. Pettigrew says he was working on his car with his brother all afternoon and evening, and his brother corroborated his alibi. Joe’s back in town now, helping Tache interview the people at the shoe game and, so far, they’ve got nothing. But they’ve still got names to run.”

  “Why don’t you give them a hand and Blalock and I will go talk to Donna?” Ella turned to get Blalock’s reaction. He nodded.

  “My guess is that Brewster has already warned his wife to keep her mouth shut,” Blalock said as he and Ella walked to his car. “She puts up with all the crap Brewster dishes out, so he’s obviously got her under his thumb.”

  “Could be. Let’s see how it plays out,” Ella said. “While we’re in Farmington, we can also track down Jerry Montoya and see what he has to say.”

  “Brewster used to go to church, so the verse from the Bible isn’t necessarily a stretch,” Blalock said, thinking out loud. “And it could have gone down the way I handed it to him at the café. But if he’s not a churchgoer these days, why come up with a quote from Scripture? It doesn’t fit the guy he appears to be.”

  “I know,” Ella answered as soon as they were underway. “And that verse at the crime scene also matches the one left by the killer in L.A. If it’s a coincidence, it certainly is a big one. Do we know if Brewster was there at the time? That would help us narrow things down, maybe.”

  “Two big coincidences would be one too many. We need to find out,” Blalock said.

  Ella raised Justine on the radio. “It’s important to find out where Brewster was living fourteen years ago when the first murder with this MO was committed. And if he was living on the Rez, can we find out where he might have traveled?”

  “Like Los Angeles? I’ll get back to you,” Justine said.

  “Let’s stop by Montoya’s place first. We’ll be able to catch him there before he takes his lunch,” Blalock said.

  Ten minutes later, Blalock pulled into a parking space by the tire shop out on west Main Street. They walked inside and found Jerry Montoya behind the counter, processing a customer who’d come in to pick up his car. A name tag pinned to his uniform shirt also identified Jerry as Owner and Manager.

  As soon as the customer left the office-showroom, keys and bill in hand, Blalock flashed his badge. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Yeah, I just heard from Stan. He said you’d probably be stopping by today.” Montoya, a chubby man in his early forties who looked almost inflated in his ill-fitting sh
irt, gestured for them to follow him into the adjacent office. “Stan said you’d be checking on his location the night that waitress of his was killed. I met him about four-thirty at the Double Play. There was a Boston–New York game going on, their first matchup of the season. The Double has a great flat-screen TV. It’s like you’re right behind home plate.”

  “Anyone else see you there?” Blalock asked.

  “The place was crowded, but hey, the season has just started. Everyone was watching the game. We were toward the back, so I doubt anyone paid any particular attention to us. One of the waitresses, maybe.”

  “What did you do after the game?”

  “It went into extra innings, so it was nearly nine by the time I got home. I’m not sure what Stan did. He was having some coffee before going out on the road. Lots of drunks that close to the…”

  Ella knew he was about to say “reservation.” Unfortunately, Montoya was right. She focused. “Did you ever hear Stan talk about Valerie Tso?”

  “I know she was his bookkeeper, good-looking for a woman who’d been through a lot, I recall him saying. But that’s all I remember. We get together to escape from work, not to talk about it.”

  A young couple entered the showroom and walked immediately over to a tire on display. “Be right with you, folks,” Montoya said, then turned back to Ella and Blalock. “I’m a man short today, so let’s wrap this up so I can tend to my customers.”

  Blalock handed Montoya a card. “If you think of anything that might be helpful, call me,” he said.

  “Well, there’s one thing you should know,” he said, lowering his voice. “I read about the murder in the paper, and for the record, there’s no way Stan could have done something like that. The article said that the woman bled to death from her wounds, and Stan has a real phobia about blood. He’d probably rearrange my face if he knew I told you, but one time on a fishing trip I cut my thumb while gutting a fish. I bled like a stuck pig, and Stan nearly fainted. No joke. He’s a tough, macho guy, but he can’t even serve liver in the café because of all the blood around it. Truth.”

  Ella stared, trying to figure out if Jerry was on the level.

  “Yeah, I know. Sounds like I’m selling you a bill of goods, doesn’t it? But it’s the truth.”

  “One more thing. Do you happen to know how long Brewster’s lived in this area?” Ella asked.

  “Practically all his life. I think he was born in Kirtland. That’s where he met Donna, I believe. They both graduated from Central.”

  “Did he ever vacation in California, that you recall?” Ella asked.

  Montoya thought about it. “He’s never mentioned California, but I know he used to go to Vegas a lot before we got our own casinos here in the state.”

  As they returned to Blalock’s car, Ella remained silent—and frustrated. Nothing seemed to be fitting together or really making much sense. “This case bugs me. The facts never add up quite right.”

  “We’re just not seeing the whole picture. Let’s go talk to Brewster’s wife and see what we can get out of her,” Blalock said.

  They arrived at a large home just northwest of the city of Farmington, which had expanded in several directions and was now incorporating former rural areas. Several acres surrounded the Brewster home, and a large barn stood in the back. Ella could see six horses out in the paddock area.

  “They’re not exactly hurting for money,” Blalock said.

  “Hardly. You couldn’t afford to feed that many horses if you were,” Ella replied, knowing how difficult it was keeping just two horses in tack, shoes, hay, sweet feed, and mineral blocks—not to mention an occasional vet bill. Sometimes she found herself hoping that Dawn’s interests would change and she’d discover a passion for basketball instead. Horses were an expensive and often dangerous proposition.

  Blalock knocked on the tall, hand-carved door, and a few minutes later a small Navajo woman wearing designer jeans and a loose flannel shirt came to the door. Blalock showed her his ID and Ella did the same.

  “Are you Donna Brewster?” Blalock asked. Seeing her nod, he added, “We need to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

  She nodded. “I was told you’d be stopping by.”

  Ella studied her delicately featured face. There were no bruises that she could see beneath the carefully applied makeup. Yet the woman held herself at an odd angle, as if favoring her right side. Maybe it was from a riding accident, but she was putting her money on Stan.

  “Stan said you’d be by to ask me about our employee, the woman who was killed. But, believe me, Stan would know far more about that than I would. I never stop by the café anymore.”

  “We’re more interested in what you know about their relationship, actually,” Ella said, her gaze never leaving her face.

  Donna expelled her breath slowly. “I know as little as possible. But I can tell you that he hasn’t been involved with her recently. Stan moves on.”

  “Are you all right?” Ella asked, seeing her shift and wince.

  “That big buckskin mare out there threw me yesterday. It happens. If you think Stan hurt me, you’re wrong,” she said firmly.

  Ella and Blalock exchanged glances. “I know he’s a violent man,” Ella said softly.

  “Not with me. My husband and I have an arrangement. He doesn’t touch me, and I stay out of his way. He can run our business anyway he likes,” she said, then added. “Everything has two sides. Isn’t that what our people always say?

  “I know about Stan’s women,” Donna added, then shrugged. “If I wanted to restore the balance by taking a lover of my own, he’d probably understand. He knows its part of the Navajo way. It’s just something I’ve chosen not to do. But there have been positive things about our marriage. I’ve never known financial hardships, not like many of our people. I have everything I’ll ever need or want.”

  “You don’t love him?” Blalock asked.

  “That’s an Anglo way of thinking and why half of all marriages fail. The wives all expect too much and don’t know how to make what they have better.”

  It was a rehearsed speech, Ella suddenly realized. “It sounds to me like you’re afraid of him. But you don’t have to be, you know. There are laws that can protect you.”

  “Everyone makes compromises to get the things they want,” Donna said, not meeting Ella’s gaze. “My husband knows when to back off. That’s why I’m sure he didn’t kill Valerie Tso.”

  Ella suppressed a shudder. The whole situation was making her skin crawl. “Think back, if you will. Did you and your husband spend any time in California about fourteen years ago? Or maybe just Stan?”

  Donna gave Ella a puzzled look. “California? No. Too many people, too many cars. Stan loves Nevada, though. The gambling, and the shows.”

  “One last thing. We need to know where you were three days ago—between six to ten o’clock at night,” Blalock said.

  “Out of town. I was at the hospital in Albuquerque with my aunt. The nurse and the doctors on duty can verify that for you if you want. I talked to them about getting long-term care for her.”

  After saying good-bye, Ella hurried to the car, anxious to put as much distance between her and Donna as possible. The woman’s attitude and the situation made her sick to her stomach. “I will never understand women like her,” Ella muttered as they got underway. “They just take it.”

  “She’s like a zombie,” Blalock said. “Who knows what kind of hold he really has over her? In a situation like that, all kinds of things can come into play.”

  “She could just walk away. The café is in her name,” Ella said.

  “Donna may not know beans about running a business.”

  “She could learn,” Ella shot back. “Or hire somebody.”

  “That’s you, Clah. The woman is obviously very passive, and has a comfortable life. Brewster has his women, and she’s learned to stay away from him as much as she can and not make waves. She made her deal with that devil a long time ago.”
>
  “Someday she’ll explode and fight back.”

  “Or not,” Blalock said calmly.

  They drove west back to Shiprock and Ella had Blalock drop her off at the station. A minute later Ella found Justine at the crime lab, working.

  “I need a copy of the Bible quote we found at the scene,” Ella said. “I’m going to see Ford and find out if it has any special relevance or interpretation. You got any thoughts on this?”

  “I’ve had it on my mind, actually.” Justine read the quote aloud, slowly and thoughtfully. “‘The Lord has made all things for himself; yea, even the wicked for the day of evil.’” She paused for several long moments. “To me, it sounds like we’ve got a killer with an agenda, partner,” Justine added. “He believes he’s serving the Lord.”

  “That’s what’s worrying me. I think the dying’s just begun.”

  Ten

  Ella sat across from Ford in his office as he studied the Bible passage. “In our ministry, we usually focus on the teachings in the New Testament, Ella. This is from Proverbs.”

  “I understand but can you tell me if this particular verse has a special meaning to Christians, beyond the obvious?”

  “There are almost as many interpretations of the Bible as there are religions but, to me, it’s simply a way of saying that God made all and He will mete out justice in the end.” He paused to think about it a moment longer, then continued. “Or maybe, getting inside the killer’s head for a moment, he’s thinking that even the wicked have a part in God’s plan and he’s God’s instrument of justice.” He looked up at her and added, “If that’s the case, you’ve got a huge problem on your hands.”

  She nodded slowly. “Do you know if any of the other churches in the area like to focus their sermons on Proverbs?”